


The Check Engine Light

by screengeekdiaries



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hunters & Hunting, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1449016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screengeekdiaries/pseuds/screengeekdiaries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Occasionally, even the greatest hunters need a little bit of help. And sometimes that help comes from the most unlikeliest of places...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Check Engine Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [http://its-the-fangirl.tumblr.com/](/gifts?recipient=http%3A%2F%2Fits-the-fangirl.tumblr.com%2F).



You knew this day would come eventually. Everybody had told you so – your mum, dad, any of your mates that you’d offered a lift to in the last month. And despite all your protests to the contrary, by the end of last week, they’d all been proved right.  


Curse that fucking check engine light.

Luckily, the garage that your Dad recommended happened to have a pick-up service, so you and your sorry-ass excuse for a car didn’t spend too long waiting at the side of the highway. Mr Singer, despite being a gruff looking son of a bitch, was even surprisingly nice about the whole situation, offering to fix the engine for a fraction of the price (even if he did berate you for ignoring the warning light for so long. The word _“Idjit”_ may have been muttered once or twice). You wondered if he had kids, as you highly doubted he was this kind to all of his clients.

That was now over two weeks ago. You’d finally got the call this morning saying that the car was ready for collection, so you decided to walk the few miles from home to go get it; well, it was either that or play another round of ‘I Told You So’ with Dad, a sure-fire consequence of excepting the lift he offered you at breakfast. Still, it was a pleasant spring day, warm with a gentle breeze to break the humidity, nothing a pair of sunglasses couldn’t handle. How often did those days come around this time of year?

Soon enough, the rusty arched sign of ‘Singer’s Auto Salvage’ loomed into view, like a gateway to broken car heaven. _Literally_ , you thought to yourself. Rows upon rows of haphazardly stacked cars filled the lot, all in various states of repair, disuse and functionality. Everything seemed to be covered in a thick veil of rust and dirt, and you were sure you spotted bullet holes in the side of one decrepit looking Pontiac. Sighing heavily, and wondering why on Earth anyone would recommend this place to _fix cars_ , you started down one of the Avenues of Neglect, searching for any signs of life. Or your keys. You’d really take either right about now.

About half way down the row you realised you could hear the faint sounds of crashing. Broken glass one minute, the next splintering wood, which got progressively louder as you neared the large and fairy homely-looking blue house in the centre of the yard. _Either there’s some serious renovations going on in there, or something’s not right._ Keeping low, you skirted round a familiar looking pick-up truck and a vintage Chevy Impala (which you would have draped yourself across and _drooled_ all over if you hadn’t just heard a gunshot) to get to the front door.

Which was ajar. At least, the half of it that still remained was.

Now, most normal people at this point would have probably turned and ran by now; if not at hearing the gunfire, then surely at seeing how savagely broken down the front door had become. At the very least, they would have called the police. What they wouldn’t have done is _go inside to see what all the commotion was about!_ Which is precisely what you were doing right now. This was a sleepy little town, not much ever happened here, and to hell with it if you were gonna pass up the chance to see shit going down! You liked to live life on the edge. ‘Check Engine Light’ on the edge. What could possibly happen?

Apparently, Mr Singer flying past your head, that could happen.

You ducked as around 200lbs worth of plaid, beard and trucker cap sailed out the half-door you’d just walked through. Eyes widening in shock, you stumble backwards into the kitchen. Or what was left of the kitchen, that is. Large wood splinters of what was once a table littered across the floor, the remains of plates and cutlery spewing from several cabinets as their drawers dangled from their hinges. Water pooled steadily on the floor, spouting from the head of a missing tap, merging gracefully as it washed over a spatter of blood.

A loud, almost animalistic growl, followed by muffled grunting pierced the background noise of breaking furniture. You head spun from the chaos before you to the commotion in the next room. Taking careful steps towards the fray, you spied a man in the corner, short brown hair matted with blood, propped up like a rag doll against the wall. What really caught your eye though was the other man, taller, bent backwards over a coffee table, trying to hold back the descending weight of his attacker with a rifle. A rifle that was bending under the weight of a creature that appeared to be _half man, half bull!_ No. Freaking. Way!

You couldn’t precisely tell if it was fear or pure unadulterated shock that froze you to the spot like that, but it was certainly the sounds of gnashing teeth edging closer to pretty boy's face that snapped you out of it. You desperately looked round for anything that vaguely resembled a weapon. The mid-morning sun glaring through the window caught on the blade of an abandoned sword-machete thing and, heart in your throat, you took your chance. Knowing that no one knew you were there (and that the creatures’ focus was solely on the gent he was trying to maim) you grabbed up the sword mid-stride and ran straight for the beasts hairy, hunched back. Dodging flailing legs, furniture and a freaking tail you found yourself close enough to smell it. The beast was now inches from chomping the man's face off. Glancing at the target area, you aimed the blade towards it’s heart (or where you thought its heart might be. _It's half fucking bull, it could be anywhere!_ ) and, with all the strength you possessed, brought it down.

The scream that fell from its thick, bristled throat as you sunk metal into furry flesh gave you hope that the aim was true. Or at least true enough that it would die before eating you. It reared its ugly, horned head up and staggered around the small living space, trying to reach round and prise the weapon out of his back, swinging and grasping and grunting in earnest. You kept back, next to the wall and out of reach of its unwieldy thrashing whilst coffee-table man looked on confused and stunned at the sudden turn of events.

With a final, throaty, almost prehistoric shriek, it crashed to the floor with a morbid finality. As the dust settled over its stilled body, only the sound of heavy, laboured breathing dared disturb the atmosphere. Until...

"What the hell, kid?"

At some point, the man had prised himself off the coffee table and was now towering above you. His face couldn't decide between anger, worry and a little pride, whilst his hair, despite being coated in blood and saliva, had managed to retain a 'just come off a photoshoot' quality. _Damn!_

"You could've been hurt! Or killed! You can't just pick up a sword and expect to turn into He-Man! What were you thinking?"

"That you needed help!" You bit back. _What, was he afraid you stole his thunder or something?_

"Which you could say 'thanks' for, by the way."

He gulped and took a step back from your outburst, but at least had the decency to look bad about it. His face softened.

"Yeah, no, you're right. Sorry. Thanks for, you know, saving me."

"No problem" You shrugged back. In the pause that followed, you could hear the 'shuffle-step' of someone approaching the room. Moments later, Mr Singer appeared, a little battered and bruised but otherwise no worse for wear from his flight through the front door. He'd even managed to retain his cap.

"Balls!" he uttered as he surveyed the wreckage around him. Recognition crossed his face as he laid his eyes on you.

"Do you have any idea what you just took down here kid?"

Sounding a lot more confident than you felt, you nonchalantly kicked the beasts hairy side with the toe of your boot. _Oh dear God please let it actually be dead. Don't let it jump up and eat me!_

"Oh, that? If I had to guess, I'd say..." Quickly scanning the body in question to confirm your previous theory, you look up at the shaggy haired man with a smile quirking at the corners of your lips "... Minotaur? Though what one would be doing outside of Greece..."

Your speech faltered as you looked round to see raised eyebrows and gawping mouths staring at you in stunned silence. You chuckled slightly as a blush crept across your cheeks. It was like looking at three startled goldfish! Well, two goldfish and an unconscious dude. You coughed, and pressed on.

“Sorry, forgot to mention, I studied Greek Mythology at college last year. Bit of a weird choice of subject, but hey, I guess you never know when it might come in handy!”

Looking you over one last time to check that you were for real, he reached out a hand.

“Sam Winchester.”

“(Y/N), nice to meet ya. Now, how’s about we patch up your mate over there? I really need to pick up my car...”

**Author's Note:**

> I've tried to keep this one shot as gender neutral as possible. Based off this supernaturalimagine.tumblr.com ask: "I'm loving your one shots, but could you please write a story where the girl is not the one in need of saving. Can we have a story where the reader saves the boys or Crowley or bobby. Or whoever really. I'd just like for the reader to not be the hopeless damsel in distress for once."


End file.
